


Choices

by Cahaya (Tarlaith)



Series: Fox Blood - SPIN-OFFs [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monsters, Bestiality, Knotting, Kumiho!Billy, M/M, Sex with a shapeshifter in animal-form, Vampire!Goodnight, promptfill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9239291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlaith/pseuds/Cahaya
Summary: Goodnight wants to get the job done. Billy wants to knot Goodnight.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt:  
> "Fox shapeshifter Billy fucks Goody in his animal form and Goody starts off unsure but ends up loving it."  
> On the [Mag7 kink meme](https://mag7-kink-meme.dreamwidth.org/1188.html?thread=146340#cmt146340)
> 
> Beta-ed by [Nopholom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom/pseuds/Nopholom)! (Thank you so much! <3)
> 
> Enjoy!

On the cold, rough stone floor of The Cave, Goodnight sat cross-legged in the dark, pursing his lips in consideration as he weighed the guns in his hands. The one in his left was a Mark XIX Desert Eagle of .50 caliber, one of the most powerful and dangerous semi-automatic handguns on the planet; gas operated like a rifle, with enough force to explode a human's organs on impact. The other was a .460 Smith&Wesson Magnum Revolver designed for long-range handgun hunting, with one of the highest velocity revolver cartridges in the world, but of .45 caliber. Not that it mattered _much_ ; being perforated by one of those bullets would kill an unjustly undead good and proper.

“Goody, I'm dying. I need to knot you, right now.”

“Scientists recently proved that it is impossible to die of a boner. You'll survive,” Goodnight replied absentmindedly. Both guns were close-range weapons, neither weighing more than half a toy poodle, but he'd never actually gotten to trial shoot them. _So, which one to take on an international monster hunt?_

“Whoever did that study never fucked a fox in Rut,” Billy whined. “We're different. It's a biological imperative. I _need_ it. Don't you want me to feel good?”

“I do want you to feel good,” Goodnight murmured, acutely aware of how Billy perked up behind him. “But when a Chisholm calls for assistance I'm not going in without a good, thoroughly cleaned and loaded gun.”

“ _My_ loaded gun could use some polishing.”

Going by appearance, Goodnight would choose the revolver, but only because it looked a lot cooler. He placed both guns in his lap and reached for another of the sturdy gray metal cases surrounding them, briefly considering to turn up with an assault rifle but then decided against it. He didn't even know what ground they'd be fighting on. Knowing the Chisholms, it would be a city-turned-death-trap. The layouts of today's cities didn't allow enough ground coverage with a sniper rifle and Goodnight would much rather be down there when the fun started.

One of the perks of being all up close and personal with one of the biggest hunter clans of North America were, in Goodnight's opinion, the invitations that occasionally appeared in their mailbox. This year's had come as a cute New Year's greeting card, showing two apple-cheeked baby angels with golden curls sitting in the snow in nothing but diapers. It was a cute motif, except that someone had used black crayons to draw huge fangs into the left one's mouth. They more resembled Billy's terrifying fox grin than Goodnight's _totally inconspicuous_ eyeteeth, but it was probably meant to be him anyway because the black furry snakes worming out behind the right angels' diapers were definitely Billy's tails.

It was weird to have children draw pictures for them. They were the kind of beasts that lurked beneath beds and in closets, ready to jump out once the lights went out. Even though more and more fabulous creatures – of which some didn't even _exist_ – made their appearance as hot but mysterious Bad Boys in movies these days, those were usually meant for young adults. Case in point: pre-teens were not supposed to happily play piggy-back with a bloodsucking monster, giggling and whooping for more. But both Vasquez' flock of skin-shifting menaces and Sam's dangerously unadjusted brood couldn't be more unimpressed with vampires and heart-eating kumihos. In fact, they had taken a shine to Billy the last time he and Goodnight had been around for dinner. It had been some kind of gathering within the family circle, meaning the whole hundred-and-fifty clan members, along with their spouses and closest friends. As one did in Kansas.

The whole affair included a formal dinner, to which Goodnight, in a burst of holiday-spirit, had made Billy show up in human form. Billy, thankfully ready to be an adult once in a blue moon, had reluctantly donned the jeans, tight black turtleneck and sneakers. Vasquez' youngest daughter hadn't been nearly as understanding, though. After half an hour of pouting, protesting and a stern talking of her father she stuck out her tongue at him and dashed out of the room, short sandy tail peeking out beneath her frilly pink skirt as her puppy paws shredded her socks.

The adults would probably have turned back to dinner as if nothing had happened, but the little one hadn't been the only bored kid at the table and now that the hare was running there was no stopping them. Billy immediately decided that if the pups were allowed to go feral he was as well, hot on their heels, and gleefully massacred the piñata, bathing in a shower of bonbons, dog treats and Turkish delight. Goodnight didn't even try to hide his smile.

He wasn't when he opened that card, either, but there was no one there to see it. Which was probably for the best since he was also buck naked and pale as a fresh corpse, complete with cause-of-death claw marks. Billy getting carried away at the right moment was always delightful.

The inside of the card read: “ _Happy New Year, lovebirds. We're burning out a wasp's nest on Imbolc and would love to have you tag along. Some unpleasantries on the menu, though. Be sure to bring your Winchester and the silver bullets, wink-wink. Love; James, Keira and Ellie._ ”

Goodnight had shown the message to Billy when he returned to the bedroom, and Billy had been keen, despite “unpleasantries” probably meaning shucks, werewolves and other dog-like creatures. But it was the height of mating season, he was jittery and perpetually horny, with no sufficient outlet for all that energy.

Since they didn't keep their small army's supply of deadly weapons at the cottage, this meant a trip to one of their Rocky Mountain retreats was in order. They had two weeks left until Imbolc – the first of February to everyone not a witch or new age pagan – leaving them with enough time to stock up on sunglasses and make some motel reservations.

The drive up took approximately thirty hours in their almost new GMC 4500. They made it in three days, luckily hitting a winter storm early on, which allowed Goodnight to keep on driving because it was dark enough to actually see something.

Billy spent most of the time curled into a tight ball on the passenger seat, paws and nose tucked under his bushy tail, growling irritably at every dent in the road and snapping at Goodnight's fingers. Goodnight was driving one-handed most of the time, the other tangled into Billy's thick winter coat, which was actually not as soft to the touch as it looked. The only soft fur on Billy was on his belly or the underside of his tail, both of which Goodnight avoided while driving, because petting Billy there inevitably led to distractions that could get them both killed. Again.

Definitely not happening on Goodnight's watch. Which was why he'd put his foot down about the seat belts; Billy wouldn't let him order a dog box, not even for safety.

They reached the outskirts of the Rocky Mountains around noon, though they had been visible for much longer, and drove on for a few more hours through thick conifer forest, mountain ridges like the back plates of a stegosaurus in the distance. Later, they ditched the road for a gravel path and followed it until it disappeared at the foot of a cliff. Goodnight pulled the truck to a stop and exited the car. Billy's ears twitched, but his head only turned when Goodnight left the door open. He caught a glimpse of snow and was up immediately, leaping across the driver's seat to dive headfirst into the white. Down in their cottage in Louisiana they didn't get this much snow, and it was crunchy most of the time, melting quickly. Up here the wintery landscape was untouched, and the snow was powdery and dry, piled up high enough to reach Goodnight's upper thighs. Billy's fox form was smaller than that, and Goodnight had to suppress a chuckle when he heard Billy's surprised chitter, only his head peeking out of the drifts.

It didn't stop Billy for long. He darted off towards the trees with a happy yap, more hopping than running, but all unrestrained euphoria at being outside again. Flakes of white stuck to his fur like powdered sugar.

Goodnight watched with a grin on his face until Billy disappeared, then made his way up to the entrance of The Cave. It took him a few moments to locate it: it was camouflaged quite well among the gray cliff walls and they hadn't had any need for heavy duty firearms in the past few years. The one and only member of the Chisholm family that knew about it had dubbed it the “Doors of Durin.”

In addition to being hard to find, the door was frozen shut, but thankfully nothing a good kick couldn't solve. A cloud of dust exploded into Goodnight's face as he stepped over the threshold, making him sneeze. Rubbing his nose he took a look around. Everything was just as they'd left it: the campfire area to his left, as close to the door as possible, with the cluster of mismatched old sofas, armchairs, coffee tables and other 1870's memorabilia stacked behind it. Three almost empty bookshelves, a dinner table stacked with china, cutlery and all the other things that didn't have a proper place, and a neatly made bed to his right, with a door leading to a storage room on the far wall.

Memories of their last time here flickered through Goodnight's mind. They had been naked for most of it, rutting on the bed or in front of the fire or – he blushed slightly – one memorable time in the storeroom, surrounded by pretty much every shotgun or rifle ever invented between 1873 and now.

A quiet growl behind him brought him back to the present and Goodnight turned back just in time to see Billy pounce, face first into the snow. A moment later he came back up, covered in white, proudly holding a twitching mouse between his teeth. He shook his head to clear his ears of the snow, effectively killing the rodent in the process. Then he threw his head back, mouth opening around his prey, chewed once and it was gone.

His yellow eyes sparkled with mischief when he looked at Goodnight, who grinned back, relieved. Billy was having fun, and if the mousing could distract him from his body's urges for a while, all the better. He'd been more than restless the past few weeks, as usual during the Rut, but this time had been worse. Goodnight almost always woke up covered in fox fur and fox cum with Billy rubbing himself off on him, trying so hard not to just mount him because he knew how uncomfortable Goodnight still was with the thought.

Shaking his head, Goodnight scouted the room, leaving the door open to let in some fresh air. He couldn't even explain to himself why the thought of letting Billy knot him in his true form made him uncomfortable. They'd done it enough in his human form. Heck, even Vasquez had... and he was a _human_. Well, not quite. More human than Goodnight or Billy at least, and even back in Rose Creek he didn't seem the slightest bit bothered by the whole tying-thing.

Goodnight winced. Thinking about this made him feel like a hypocrite. He'd cooked Billy a five-course menu of human hearts for his last birthday, why was a fox's cock up his ass such a big deal? At least while fucking no one got killed. Except him, if Billy really put his back into it.

Annoyed at himself, Goodnight decided to postpone the problem and the exploration until the air in The Cave was breathable again and smelled different than a decade of dust. He swept a book with a blue cover from the table and blew on it, revealing a string of orange letters – _Poems; Angela Morgan_ – and went back to watch Billy.

Just outside the door, three dead mice were piled up on a tiny hill of snow, waiting for him. Goodnight smiled. The small animals around here were not used to a predator's presence, making them easy prey. Goodnight sat down with his back against the doorframe and waited for Billy, who strutted up to him like he'd just won the Olympics, a fourth clump of fur in his mouth. He fixed his appraising gaze on Goodnight.

“I appreciate the sentiment, cher. Bon Appétit.”

Billy chirped around his prey and crushed it, little bones splintering audibly between his teeth. Then he licked his nose, smearing bloody mouse-guts all over it, as if to say: “ _Look what you're missing out on._ ” He flopped down onto the ground and eyed the carcasses that were already starting to freeze.

Goodnight chuckled and flipped the book open to a random page, a smirk creeping onto his face.“ _I'd rather have the thought of you, To hold against my heart, My spirit to be taught of you, With west winds blowing,_ ”

Billy made an annoyed noise.

“ _Than all the warm caresses Of another love's bestowing,_ ”

This time, it was a full on growl. Goodnight scratched Billy's ear to mollify him.

_Or all the glories of the world In which you had no part._

 

-

 

Once night fell they went back inside to reacquaint themselves with the bed, and then went on to check the “armory.” The room was only half as big as the main one, but stuffed to the brim with crates, boxes and metal cases: rifles, pistols, ammunition, body armor, and at the far back a small bowl with the remains of a long blown-up Gatling gun.

Goodnight sat down on the floor and began rifling through the hoard to find something that could comfortably kill a vampire or shuck, while Billy rubbed his scent along the walls and provided running commentary, ninety percent of which was nagging, becoming more and more unsubtle the longer it went on. “You know it won't hurt, and it feels _so good_ , you'd _love_ it.”

“It did hurt.”

“Only from surprise! I know you love my cum and the knot would lock it all inside you...”

Goodnight shot him a scathing look. “Still no. Would the revolver look too two-centuries-ago?”

Growling, Billy pushed the guns out of the way and crawled into Goodnight's lap, changing forms as he did. He rolled onto his belly and pawed at Goodnight's crotch until Goodnight sighed and started to pet him, which Billy accepted for about half a minute before trying to bite him. Goodnight was still eying the Mark XIX and didn't see it coming. He yelped and tried to pull his hand away, which resulted in Billy hanging off his arm, a slow trickle of thick blood oozing out around his fangs.

“Off,” Goodnight said, wriggling his hand until Billy reluctantly let go. His fingers were bleeding but it wasn't too bad, they healed completely while he was looking at them. He flicked Billy's ear. Billy growled and snapped at Goodnight's face, jaws closing around a sleeve when Goodnight instinctively shielded himself. He realized a second too late that this was what Billy had wanted all along.

“That shirt is new,” Goodnight warned, pulled back and winced when he heard the familiar screech of ripping fabric. He pushed Billy off him. “Look what you've done, you animal.”

Billy sniffed the sleeve, then turned up his nose and hopped over Goodnight's legs, back into the main room. He did a three-sixty and fixed his eyes on the storeroom door.

“Don't you dare pee on the doorframe again,” Goodnight called after him, still fussing with the sleeve. “No one's going to come in here anyway, you don't need to mark it.”

When he looked up Billy had cocked his head at him, and as soon as he had Goodnight's attention he put on the most unimpressed expression and lifted his leg.

Goodnight jumped to his feet, almost stomping on one of the guns, and ran after him, but was too late to stop him.

Billy let Goodnight get close, then yipped and retreated out of reach, using the lowest bookshelf to propel himself onto the table. He sauntered along the edge without slipping once, sweeping off plates and silverware with his tail. Then his eyes fell on the blue book. He picked it up, his body lowered but rump and tail raised, ears twitching, mischief radiating off of him.

“This is ridiculous,” Goodnight growled, arms akimbo. “Stop it. And give that back.”

Billy smirked, changed forms as he leapt off the table and slipped out the door, book securely in his hand. “Make me.”

Fuming, Goodnight wriggled out of his coat. It was _on_ now.

 

-

 

The night had made the woods darker and brighter at the same time; the kind of illuminated blueness that only snow brought. It drew the eyes from the star-filled sky to what was right in front; the Earth that fed and nurtured all creatures, wrapped in a bridal gown. The light wasn't helping Goodnight. He could see everything just fine, but Billy was gone already, leaving only a trail of footprints.

Goodnight followed them until they disappeared into the underbrush; impossible to track by sight alone, which was just like Billy. If Goodnight wanted a fighting chance at finding him, he would have to think outside of the box. His nostrils flared as he took in the scents around him, most of them dulled from the cold but still there: the thick odor of moist soil and rotting leaves, the tang of the air just before a heavy rainfall, the sweetness of living wood. A faint trace of tree resin stuck to them, like bitter honey; and there were the salty remains of an abandoned beehive, reminding Goodnight of sea foam. Beneath it all lay the clean smell of snow and water; a canvas for the euphony of scents. On it, standing out like a thick smear of black ink on a pastel color painting, was Billy's own unique smell.

Breathing in so deep he could _taste_ it on his tongue, sweat and excitement and the thrill of the chase, Goodnight started to grin and tore into the thicket.

He didn't bother to be silent, didn't have the instinct for it; vampires wanted their prey to know about their presence, to run and drive themselves to exhaustion, and only moved in for the kill later; gorging themselves on the delicious nectar that was fear soaked blood.

Goodnight could tell when he got closer, Billy's scent got warmer, more recent. Billy was moving without a system, darting here and there as he danced just out of Goodnight's field of vision, letting him catch a glimpse of dark fur among the white every now and then to fuel Goodnight's ambition.

Goodnight's senses focused on the flickers of movement immediately, like any predator, directing his body towards them despite knowing that Billy would already be gone when he got there, cackling with mirth. Soon Goodnight got frustrated, and then he recognized a toppled tree trunk beside him he'd definitely seen before. He skittered to a halt.

Billy was so close Goodnight could hear his snicker, but he couldn't locate him; Billy's scent was all over the place, since he couldn't erase it he'd taken care to leave it _everywhere_.

 _'A foolish fox is caught by one leg, but a wise one by all four'_ , Goodnight thought to himself; growing excited. The running had eased his irritation, he still wanted to catch Billy but for different reasons; he wanted the simple satisfaction of a successful hunt. But Billy was too smart, and just like a young grizzly had to learn that the fish was not where its scales glittered, Goodnight had to out-trick the trickster.

There was a growl behind him and a flicker of black smoke just at the edge of his vision but Goodnight didn't move, pretending not to have heard while he grumbled to himself. He knew Billy would see through the ruse quickly enough, but Billy's strength was also his weakness: he couldn't resist courting danger, because he thought himself smart enough to outwit it even when he was already caught in its claws.

Goodnight sat down on the tree trunk, carefully picking out a spot that wasn't frozen so he wouldn't stick to it later, and started humming to himself, recalling the poem he had read earlier. “ _O lover! O my lover, That this should come to me!_ ”

A small branch broke with a crunch, to his left. Goodnight didn't look up, listening for the rustle of frozen leaves crumbling to pieces beneath soft paws. “ _I'd rather have the hope for you, Ah, Love,_ ”

Billy yipped in irritation but the sound was muffled, most likely because he was still holding the book. _And he's drooling all over it_ , Goodnight thought and sighed a little wistfully, but it was quickly replaced by a grin when he pictured Billy's sulky expression; head cocked to the side and ears turned away from the poetry. More rustling followed, and Goodnight casually placed his hands on the icy wood.

“ _I'd rather grope for you Within the great abyss, Than claim another's kiss –_ ”

Claws scratched the surface of the tree trunk, it trembled beneath the added weight and Goodnight leapt to his feet. “ _Gotcha!_ ”

Billy startled and flinched, ears perked, a frozen picture of surprise as his tail swished frantically behind him. But he was only stunned for a moment, then his yellow eyes narrowed and he evaded Goodnight's hands, bared his teeth and cracked the book's cover in revenge.

“Ack! Don't to that!” Goodnight yelped, grabbing at him but only getting wisps of black smoke and empty air. Billy wasn't retreating, though. He waited until Goodnight was close enough, sidestepped and dove for his legs, slipping between them and effectively tripping him.

Goodnight lost his balance and fell over the tree trunk, landing on his butt on the other side. “Dammit, Billy, what are you? A _kit_?” he growled, and promptly got an infant's wail in response. Then Billy bolted, presumably back to where he'd hidden out earlier, leaving Goodnight to scramble back to his feet on his own.

Goodnight wasn't too disappointed it hadn't worked, although it surprised him that Billy had fallen for it. Maybe he'd just pretended to have fallen for it, to play Goodnight at his own game-in-the-game.

Goodnight batted the sticky snow off his clothes and followed the footsteps once more until he found a tree to lean against. He was just about to resume his poetry reciting – he could always just wait for Billy to get bored or horny enough to come back on his own – when he heard it: a horrible, blood-curdling, _inhuman_ scream that made his hair stand on end.

Alarmed, he looked around. “Billy?!”

No answer. If Goodnight had a living heart, it would probably start beating rapidly right about now. He saw a movement in the distance. It was Billy, still in his fox form, tail raised and ears erect, book forgotten in the snow. He was baring his teeth at another fox.

It was a female, with a vibrant red coat, glowing like late autumn sunlight on fallen leaves. The tips of her ears and paws were black, as well as the top fur of her tail. Her throat and belly were a white so pristine it was hard to distinguish where the fox ended and the snow began. She closed her mouth and sniffed the air.

Billy stood stock still, disregarding every sense of fox-politeness when he made no move towards her. She approached him undeterred, tail swishing curiously. As she moved Goodnight could see her legs, she was thin but not emaciated. He knew now what the scream had been: the love-call of a single fox. Because apparently, screaming like a banshee was incredibly sexy to a fox in Rut.

Like... Billy. He still hadn't moved but his gaze followed the vixen as she closed in on him, nose twitching. Her ears were perked and she ignored Goodnight, clearly deciding that if Billy wasn't deterred by him she wouldn't be either; or her hypothetical kits were worth the risk.

She floated past Billy, curiously looking at where the snow melted around his paws, seductively brushing their sides together, and Goodnight, finally catching up to them, was starting to wonder if Billy would do something at all when she tried to stick her nose under his tail and Billy jumped, whirling around with a snarl. She shrieked, ears pressed flat to her head. Billy went for her throat and she turned tail and ran, snow spraying around her.

The vixen disappeared between the trees and Goodnight felt a little bit sorry for her, because it couldn't be easy to be lonely in the winter. He took a tentative step towards Billy, reaching out to touch him.

Billy startled as if he'd just remembered Goodnight's presence. His yellow eyes flashed, smoke oozing from his fur, and he lunged at Goodnight, changing mid-jump and toppling them both into the snow.

Goodnight yelped, tree branches and stars and Billy spinning as he fell. “Billy, what -?”

He stopped when Billy growled and pressed his teeth to Goodnight's throat, using his claws to rip his already ruined shirt to pieces. Blood welled up where he'd cut more than fabric. Billy got drunk on the smell, eyes narrowing to slits. He ground his hips down hard, rubbing his erect cock on Goodnight's flat belly, reveling in the coolness of his skin.

Goodnight moaned, the spicy smell of arousal and Billy filling his nose, he couldn't help but thrust upwards to meet him, conditioned like a Pavlovian dog. “Do that again,” he panted, lips searching for a kiss but Billy evaded him, teeth glittering sharp and pointed in the darkness. Smoke rose from his skin in waves, pouring all around them and it took Goodnight a moment to realize that Billy was changing again. Fur burst from his skin like small wisps of flames on a piece of firewood, devouring it slowly but steadily. Billy was lighter like this, less heavy but still a warm, solid mass on Goodnight's groin. He humped Goodnight's leg, rubbing his whole lower body on him: belly and cock and heavy balls, enlarged from the rut.

Goodnight shuddered at the hot pressure on his cock, the touch of the fabric of his pants too rough. He fumbled for the zipper, lost somewhere beneath the soft fur on Billy's belly and his fingers slipped. Billy growled, biting and then licking at Goodnight's hands, scooping up drops of red from between Goodnight's digits. His hot tongue continued on Goodnight's belly, tracing the rim of his pants.

“Get them off,” Goodnight bellowed impatiently. “And change.”

Billy grinned at him, disturbingly human for a fox, and sank his teeth into the fabric.

“Oww!” Sharp pinpricks of pain littered Goodnight's skin like a dozen burning kisses. Billy chirped at him and thrust his nose into Goodnight's pale, curly pubic hair, sniffing and shoving until he could push Goodnight's cock out through the tear. He started lapping at it immediately, little whiny noises spilling around it as he laved it with spit.

Goodnight groaned, groping at Billy's face. “Change, Billy, please!”

Billy bared his teeth at him.

“I can't do it like this, you know I can't!”

Reluctantly Billy let go, mouth hovering just a finger width above Goodnight's cock. His form flickered, becoming more human but not entirely, the ears stayed, as did the tails. He was naked, straddling Goodnight's thigh, his own erection a bloody red and leaking. But he didn't move, and Goodnight instinctively knew that something was wrong.

“Billy? What is it?”

Billy lifted his head and what he saw made Goodnight's insides clench. Billy's eyes were huge, shining a dull yellow, and his lips were trembling. “Please...”

“Please _what_?” Goodnight asked, concerned. “Are you hungry? My heart is yours; whatever you want, darlin', it's yours.”

Billy clenched his fists on Goodnight's belly. “Not _whatever_.”

“What? What do you m- oh. No, Billy. _No_.”

“ _Please_ , Goody. I need you. I _want_ you.”

“I can't do that.”

“You have no idea how it _feels_ ,” Billy snarled. “To want you like this and not be able to have you. It hurts, it fucking _hurts_ , even doing it with others doesn't help. Want to know why?”

“Billy...”

“Because I _love_ you. All of you, including your annoying poetry, and I want to give you all of me...,” he was trembling now, shivering like a malaria victim. “Why won't you accept it?”

“I...,” Goodnight began, but there was really nothing he could say in face of Billy's raw emotions; he was used to Billy's nagging and begging and bargaining, but this was something else, for the first time he came face to face with the hurt a hundred years of rejection had caused. Were all of Goodnight's pieces not already at Billy's feet he'd shatter right about now.

Throat dry, Goodnight averted his gaze. “Okay. Okay.”

Billy froze. Only his left ear twitched. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am,” Goodnight swallowed. “Knot me, Billy.”

“With pleasure.”

Goodnight barely had time to register the far too triumphant grin before he was roughly turned onto his front, pants ripped down in the process. Billy curled a hand around Goodnight's cock to jerk him a few times, fingers wet and slippery with melted snow. Goodnight groaned and rocked his hips, he felt Billy brush away the last pieces of the shirt and lean over him, pressing him down with his weight. His chest was hot and furry against Goodnight's back, vibrating as he let out a contented rumble. “You feel so good, Goody...”

“Billy, _oh oh_...”

“ _Shhh..._ ,” Billy peppered hot kisses all over Goodnight's neck and shoulder, gentle as he shifted down his body and parted Goodnight's cheeks, spitting on his quivering hole. His fingers were still bloody and he used that as well, massaging it into the muscle that somehow seemed tighter than usual. Goodnight buried his face in his arms, whimpering, open and submissive, and Billy decided that he'd waited long enough.

He changed quicker this time, spurred on by his own anticipation, he'd waited so long for this, head spinning with the smell of blood and sex that only became stronger in his fox's nose and his tails spilled out over Goodnight's legs as he leaned down to lick his hole. Goodnight shuddered in pleasure and Billy did it again, dipping his tongue in this time to taste him.

“Please, Billy, don't –, oh _god_.”

Goodnight’s moans got louder when Billy gave his balls a last cursory lick and lined himself up. His cock had been hanging out of its sheath since they'd started, barely hard enough to breach the muscle were it not already soft and relaxed, eagerly waiting to be stretched. Entering Goodnight was more awkward in this form; their bodies were not meant to fit, not naturally anyway, but there was nothing _natural_ to either of them and being surrounded by soothing coolness had Billy's eyes roll back in bliss. He could feel his cock harden fully now, twitching at the pressure and the lewd sounds Goodnight was trying to muffle in the crook of his arm. Billy didn't care to be quiet, foxes mated loudly and he chittered and cried enthusiastically as he fucked into Goodnight, angling for his sweet spot, yipping when he found it and Goodnight clenched around him in response.

“God, Billy, harder,” Goodnight pleaded, whining into the snow. “Come on, _fuck_ me.”

Billy was only too happy to oblige. The bulb at the base of his cock was starting to swell, catching deliciously on Goodnight's rim with every thrust, ready to tie them together. The thought alone made lightning heat sizzle along Billy's nerve endings, whipping up more flames and making him bear down harder onto Goodnight; he wanted to crawl inside him, _needed_ that blissful coolness to swallow him whole. “Mine,” Billy growled, throat straining to push the words past half-human vocal chords.

Goodnight tensed, hips jerking and stilling against Billy as he let out a strangled wail and spilled over the forest floor. The clench of his body had Billy cry out and bite down on him, he wasn't quite there yet but his own climax was approaching rapidly. He felt Goodnight relax around him, pliant from his release, but he couldn't move much despite that, they were tied and the tight grip of Goodnight's ass around his knot fluttered and tightened, pulling the orgasm out of him. Billy let out a whimper as he came, filling Goodnight's cold insides with his own molten fire and the feeling carried him even higher, stars spinning into over brightness, higher and higher to the point of no return. Until he could do nothing but fall. He came crashing down hard, spent cock oversensitive and still oozing seed. Billy tried to separate them on instinct, sliding off of Goodnight's back until his paws hit snow and realized that he couldn't move any further.

“H-hey,” Goodnight protested weakly, reaching back to grab Billy's knot where it joined them but immediately let go when Billy whimpered. Turning them fully ass to ass – the position allowed his cum to flow even more freely, making his knees go weak and Goodnight groan in pleasure – Billy used his tails as a shield to keep Goodnight's hands away, rubbing short little rumbling noises into every part of him he could reach, like bursts of purring, all happy affection.

Goodnight tangled his fingers in Billy's fur, trying to stay relaxed. The knot sat just inside his hole, throbbing and pumping him full of seed, feeling bigger than it probably was. It didn't hurt; it didn't even feel all that weird, just different, but he'd expected that. From previous experience he knew that Billy's knots lasted up to half an hour. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable on the frozen floor.

Billy nipped the back of Goodnight's knees. Goodnight squawked, startled out of his post-coital bliss. “Stop that!”

His reply was another amused rumble.

Grumbling to himself, Goodnight pillowed his head on his arms. Then he looked over his shoulder. “I know you tricked me.”

Billy cocked his head, something unsure... no, _hesitant_ in his eyes. He wasn't protesting, which was telling in itself. Goodnight sighed. “But you were right. It isn't _bad_. Doesn't mean we'll be doing it again soon,” he added hastily when he saw Billy's pleased smirk.

Billy unfurled his tails to let Goodnight see where they were tied, his rim stretching around the blood red bulb, and laughed when Goodnight blushed and turned away quickly.

Eventually the knot eased and Billy pulled out, smearing the wet tip of his cock along Goodnight's thigh. Goodnight made an undignified noise, feeling more hot fox cum dribble out of him and cool between his cheeks. For a moment he was truly sorry that the overstuffed sensation was gone. Then he saw Billy, crouching hunched over beside him, face between his legs to lick his genitals clean. His cock was almost invisible again, drawn back into its sheath of fur and skin. Once Billy was done he trotted over, head not held quite as high as usual, tail swishing from side to side. Almost _nervous_ , now that it was over.

Goodnight smiled and patted the ground between his spread thighs. Billy eagerly climbed into his lap, butting his head against Goodnight's chin. Goodnight sank his hands into Billy's fur and smirked. “Love my poetry, you said?”

Billy's mouth twitched. He licked Goodnight's neck and jaw.

“ _I'd rather have the want of you, The rich, elusive taunt of you, Forever and forever and forever unconfessed._ ”

The purr bled into a chuckle as Billy changed, taking Goodnight's hand and lacing their fingers together.

“ _Than claim the alien comfort Of any other's breast_ ,” he finished and kissed Goodnight, sweet and languid and settled. Goodnight beamed, absurdly happy that Billy had quoted back at him, and Billy quickly schooled his expression. “Don't get used to it.”

 

-

 

They went back to the house shortly before sunrise. Goodnight placed the book on one of the bookshelves and fetched some clean clothes from their suitcases in the car, then followed Billy into the storeroom to pack up the weapons. They'd just collected the guns and the required ammunition when Goodnight remembered something else.

“Hold that for a moment,” he said, passing Billy a stack of metal cases.

“I'll go put these in the car,” Billy replied and left.

“Sure.”

Goodnight crawled over a wooden crate and then another, heading for the back of the room where their most painful memory rested, but stopped before that when he found a box as big as a safe, and probably as sturdy. He wiped the dust off its surface and grinned at the inscription. “Ha! I knew it!”

He hauled it through the storeroom – the box was too heavy for one human alone – and needed three tries to somehow fit it through the narrow door, which made him wonder how they'd gotten it in here in the first place. The front door was easier.

Billy awaited him, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Goody.”

“What is it, cher?” Goodnight stopped fussing with the box and looked up. There was a coyote sitting on the hood of their car, smiling toothily.

Billy nodded in the direction of the other canine. “He asks if we need to brush up on our marksmanship.”

“Don't think so. This is different.”

“How?”

Goodnight patted the box, pointing at the label. It read ' _General Electric GAU-8/A Avenger_.' A seven-barrel anti tank autocannon usually mounted on aircrafts. “This time, we're the ones with the Gatlin' gun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Poem: "Choice" by Angela Morgan  
> "A foolish fox is caught by one leg, but a wise one by all four." - Serbian proverb.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


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